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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923561">Out in the Open</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgrove/pseuds/peachgrove'>peachgrove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Epilepsy Diaries [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Epilepsy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Seizures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgrove/pseuds/peachgrove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, what if things are different now? What if they want to change? Don’t you want that?” Timmy asks, insanely confused.</p><p>Armie snorts. “Of course, I want that. That doesn’t mean that’s their intentions, though."</p><p>or</p><p>Armie's parents are in town and they randomly want to meet Timmy. It goes just as terribly as Armie thought it would.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Epilepsy Diaries [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Out in the Open</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ofc this is all fiction. nothing against the characters!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No. No, no, no. Absolutely not, Timmy,” Armie defends, throwing his phone back down on the coffee table just to prove his point.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy sighs next to him exaggeratedly. He knows what he’s doing when he crawls over the couch to nestle in Armie’s lap, legs straddling Armie’s hips, his elbows resting on Armie’s shoulders. Armie can see that he’s trying to reel him in, and he hates to admit that it might be working.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Arms,” Timmy whines. “This could be a good thing. This could be nice.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie scuffs, but rests his hands on Timmy’s waist anyway. “That’s cute. It really is, Tim. But you don’t know my family. Nothing about it would be ‘nice’ in any way.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy rolls his eyes. “Armie, they’re your parents. They’re in town and they want to get dinner with you so they can meet your boyfriend. What’s so wrong with that?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie brings a hand to his face and  rubs his forehead, perhaps harder than he has to. It’s frustrating because, how does he explain this to Timmy? How does he explain his toxic parents that tainted his entire childhood to Timmy when all that Timmy has experienced is supportive parents who actually want him to be happy and not just want “what’s best for him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Timmy, you don’t know my parents. It’s...It’s not that simple.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I want to know them,” Timmy says as he crosses his arms over his chest. The pout on his face is undeniably cute.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t,” Armie says confidently. “Trust me, you don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“And how can you be so sure?” Timmy asks. Armie can’t understand his relentless interest in his shitty family.</p><p> </p><p>Armie sighs, moving his hands lower to rest on Timmy’s hips. “Because they aren’t...great people. They’re very judgemental and...I don’t even know how to explain it. They’re just not the best to be around.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy shrugs. “What does that even mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“It means they’re discriminatory,” Armie says, slightly annoyed at Timmy’s persistence. “They’re homophobic and ableist and--”</p><p> </p><p>“If they’re so homophobic, then why would they want to meet me?” Timmy says. He sits up a little straighter as if he’s proud of the point he made.</p><p> </p><p>Armie stops for a second to think about that. Timmy’s right, why would they care? Why would they even want to be involved with that? Him being caught sleeping with his high school boyfriend is what got him kicked out of the house so many years ago. He lived on couches for weeks, until they finally let him come home as long as he promised to kneel on rice every day and pray for forgiveness for the “heinous” things he has done. Armie came home, just to get himself on his feet before he moved out, but that year or so was terrible. He couldn’t do anything on his own, couldn’t talk to people. They were worried he’d do it again. </p><p> </p><p>Armie thinks the true reason they let him come back home was because it looked bad on their part. How were they to explain to their fellow church-goers that their son has moved out of their house because he was caught balls deep in his boyfriend’s ass? How would that have made them look?</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, they never stopped talking to Armie though. It wasn’t like they saw each other on a regular basis, but they called. They saw each other at the occasional family function. They never truly disowned Armie. But he knows that’s only because they wanted him to work for their family business in the oil industry. And the truth is, Armie would rather work a shitty 9-5 in an office in Manhattan, New York than give them what they want: his dependency.</p><p> </p><p>It’s been years since they’ve properly talked, so why now?</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, Timmy,” Armie finally says because he truly doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what if things are different now? What if they want to change? Don’t you want that?” Timmy asks, insanely confused.</p><p> </p><p>Armie snorts. “Of course, I want that. That doesn’t mean that’s their intentions, though. They probably just want to be nosey just so they can have something else to belittle me for. Or they just want to ruin what we have, just like they have ruined everything else I’ve ever had.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s face settles into a deep frown at Armie’s words. He tenderly pushes Armie’s hair back from his forehead. “They wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let them.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie leans into his touch. “They’d find a way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s just...give it a try. Don’t you want to be on better terms with them? I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to give them a chance,” Timmy ponders.</p><p> </p><p>And that’s something Armie both loves and hates about Timmy. He always looks for the best in people, gives them the benefit of the doubt, sees them for who they want to be rather than for who they are. It’s sweet and endearing, but it can be so dangerous for him. Life isn’t so sunshine and happiness.</p><p> </p><p>Armie smiles up at Timmy and brings hands to interlock on the small of Timmy’s back. “I just don’t want you to be around them is all. I don’t think it will go well.”</p><p> </p><p>Something changes on Timmy’s face then. His expression falls and he’s suddenly unable to hold eye contact with Armie. He brings his hands back in front of him and starts picking at his nails. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you…” he starts, his words now quiet and mumbly. “Are you embarrassed? Is that why you don’t want me to meet them?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie feels his heart sink, and soon his face is covered with utter shock. “What? No! No, that’s not it at all,” he says as he sits up from the couch, bringing his face closer to Timmy’s. Timmy looks down.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine if that’s the reason. I just...wanna know so I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Anymore? What the fuck does that mean? Has Timmy been thinking that he’s too embarrassed to have him meet his parents all this time? For the past four years?</p><p> </p><p>“What? Timmy, no. No, of course I’m not embarrassed of you, baby. I just don’t want you to be around those kinds of people. They’re toxic and straight up mean. I don’t want you to have to deal with that.” Armie spreads his hands and rubs long strokes up and down Timmy’s back to comfort him.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy leans forward then, burying his face in his boyfriend's neck. Armie wraps his arms around him and holds him close before he leans back against the couch again. Timmy seems to be scared to say what he does next.</p><p> </p><p>“Do they...know? That I have epilepsy?” Timmy asks. His curls tickle Armie’s cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve brought it up to them, yes. But they definitely don’t understand the severity,” Armie swears, his eyebrows knitted together in worry.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy swallows harshly. “Do they know I’m a guy?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie freezes. What? Did he hear that right?</p><p> </p><p>“Um, what?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy pushes his face further against the crook of Armie’s neck. He can feel the boy’s cheeks heating up. “Do they know that you’re dating a guy?”</p><p> </p><p>What?</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Timmy. Of course they know that. We’ve been together for almost four years now. I’ve talked to them about you before,” Armie explains. He’s so confused. Why would Timmy even think that?</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, I’ve just...I’ve had people lie to their parents before about me being a chick. And it…” Timmy shakes his head, unable to finish. He sounds mortified, upset, hurt. It hurts Armie, even though he isn’t the one who’s done this to Timmy. Surely, some of it was Luke’s doing.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s okay,” Armie promises. He’s sure to always turn down Timmy’s unnecessary apologies, something he picked up from being with his abusive ex. “I understand why you asked. But, no, I didn’t lie to them. I told them years ago. I can’t say they were happy, but they know.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, why can’t I meet them?” Timmy mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Armie sighs. Alright, fine. He’ll cave.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, let’s make a deal. We can meet my parents.” Timmy gasps. “But,” he continues, “you have to tell me if they’re making you uncomfortable or anything. As soon as you say the word, we leave. No questions asked. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy sits up at that, excited. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie raises his eyebrows at him. He’s not sure if he’s just made a mistake, but Timmy seems pleased, so that makes the worry go away slightly.</p><p> </p><p>Armie puts a hand on the nape of Timmy’s neck and pulls him forward to press him against his lips. Timmy’s mouth immediately opens. Obedient. Greedy. Their tongues slide together for a good amount of time before Timmy is grinding down in Armie’s lap and moaning into Armie’s mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy grips his hair. “Armie…”</p><p> </p><p>Armie growls in response. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, Chalamet.” He grins at their ability to change the subject matter so quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy whimpers at that, scrambling to lay back on the couch. He holds his hands above his head. “Take me,” he whispers.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have to say much else. Armie fucks him into the couch just like that, hands pinned over his head, one leg hiked up over the older’s shoulder. The sounds he makes drown out the fear that’s brewing deep in Armie’s gut at the thought of what’s to come tomorrow night.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>All day Armie tries to convince Timmy not to go. He tells him that they can just cancel, that his parents probably won’t be that disappointed. But Timmy doesn’t let it slide. He ignores the requests all day, trying to find something nice to wear to the fancy restaurant they’re made reservations for.</p><p> </p><p>That night as they’re walking up to one of the nicest restaurants in Manhattan, they hold hands. Armie trails behind Timmy a bit, so their stride looks more like Timmy is pulling Armie along. But Armie can’t help it. He would do anything to turn around and go home, anything to go back and time to tell Timmy that no is no and they’re not going. But it’s too late for that now.</p><p> </p><p>“Timmy, wait,” Armie says as he stops in his tracks just before they can walk inside. He pulls Timmy back who looks at him expectantly. He’s wearing a deep blue suit with a crisp, white shirt underneath, the buttons of his jacket undone. His hair falls effortlessly around his face. He looks flawless.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asks as he looks up at Armie.</p><p> </p><p>Armie bites his lip. This is stupid to ask when they’re right outside the doors, but he has to try one more time. He fixes his tie with his free hand before saying, “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, we can turn around now. Not even show up. It would serve them right, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy rolls his eyes about midway through. “Armie…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just saying--”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re going...okay? We said we would, they’re already inside. We’re going,” Timmy says with surprise authority. Armie swallows hard at the finality of his statement.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay… Yeah, okay,” Armie agrees. He’s just going to have to accept the fact that Timmy is mentally unable to visualize parents as cruel and cunning as his own.</p><p> </p><p>Armie drops their hands and holds his arm out for Timmy instead. The boy grabs his elbow and leans against his boyfriend as they make their way into the restaurant. They’re met with the sight of expensive interior design and the sound of boring old elitist chatter. It takes Armie back to his old days, and he immediately feels sick to his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening, gentlemen. Do you have a reservation with us?” a slightly disinterested host asks them as they approach the counter.</p><p> </p><p>Armie speaks up. “Yes, it’s under Hammer?”</p><p> </p><p>There are a few seconds that the man looks for their reservation. Timmy squeezes his arm in the meantime. “Yes, sir. It’s right here under private dining.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie almost rolls his eyes. Of course his parents would make their reservation in a fucking party room. Just to put themselves apart from others. Just to make themselves look better. “Yes, I believe that’s the one.”</p><p> </p><p>The man smiles at them and makes his way around the counter. “Right this way.”</p><p> </p><p>The walk to the table is miserable. Armie can feel his heart beating faster and faster in his chest as they approach some red, exotic-looking double doors. He hasn’t seen his parents in so long. What will they think of him? What will he think of them?</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Timmy whispers by his side. He must have been sensing Armie’s tension.</p><p> </p><p>Armie musters a smile.</p><p> </p><p>When the host opens the doors to the room, bows, and utters “enjoy,” Armie’s heart drops. Because he’s met with the sight of his parents. Because their eyes are already boring into him. Because the sound of the door shutting makes him realize that he’s now alone with them, and he must face them head on. Because Timmy is already dragging him along so that they can greet them.</p><p> </p><p>And Armie feels sick.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello!” Timmy calls as they start making their way to the end of the long dinner table that would probably seat around 20 or 30. It’s unnecessary and obnoxious. It reminds Armie of his younger years.</p><p> </p><p>His parents don’t say anything as they approach them. They simply stand up and wait for the two to make their way to them. And they just stare, stiff in their clean-cut attire. Armie can’t read anything on their expression except coldness. They look older, more tired, somehow less tolerant. It worries Armie.</p><p> </p><p>Armie pulls Timmy back a bit and shoves him behind himself once they get up to his parents. He doesn’t want Timmy to be the one to experience the first blow.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad,” Armie says as he lets go of Timmy to greet them. He shakes his father’s hand as if they’re businessmen and he kisses his mother’s cheek as she stiffly pats his back.</p><p> </p><p>The smell of them makes Armie anxious. His father’s aftershave, his mother’s perfume, the subtle scent of the home he grew up in. He doesn’t want to think about this right now. God dammit, why did he agree to this?</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Armand,” his mother says, out of spite. She knows what he prefers to be called and she blatantly ignores it. His father doesn’t say a word.</p><p> </p><p>Why am I here, he wonders.</p><p> </p><p>Armie steps aside to introduce Timmy. He feels a sense of pride in showing off his boyfriend, knowing how amazingly gorgeous he is. “And this is Timmy.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy shakes his father’s hand and awkwardly tries to hug his mother. The poor thing pulls away once he sees Armie’s mother lean back and make a sound of almost disgust. “Sorry,” he quickly apologizes as he offers his hand to her as well.</p><p> </p><p>His mother looks Timmy up and down. It makes Armie fume. “Is there anything else I can call you that would be less...childish? Timothy, Tim? Timmy sounds so juvenile--”</p><p> </p><p>“Mom,” Armie warns.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s...whatever works, yeah. I’m fine with whatever,” Timmy says in a hurry. Armie can tell he’s already feeling out of place and awkward. It’s a feeling he knows that Timmy hates and a feeling he knows will only grow worse as the night goes on.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim it is then,” Armie's father finally speaks. “I’m Micheal and this is Dru.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy smiles with a nod, awkwardly giving them a small bow. It’s precious. “Very nice to meet you both.”</p><p> </p><p>They don’t say it back.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s have a seat, shall we?” Micheal suggests. Everyone else silently agrees. Armie and Timmy sit across from his parents, the group sitting isolated at the end of an extravagant table.</p><p> </p><p>Conversation starts off light. His parents ask him how life has been going, how he likes New York City, what his job is like. Things of that nature. For a second, Armie thinks he might have overreacted. Maybe his parents just wanted to catch up, see how he was doing, try to rekindle their relationship. But that was all shut down when Dru asks what Timmy does for a living, because Armie knows what’s coming next.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I...I don’t work. I’m on disability, so…” Timmy trails off. He’s embarrassed. He always feels shame in telling people he can’t do things everyone else can. It hurts Armie’s heart.</p><p> </p><p>Dru quirks a brow up at his words. Micheal chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what’s wrong with you? What made you crippled? Did you get hurt as a baby or something?” Dru asks, feigning innocence. But Armie knows she’s anything but. She knows what she’s doing, and she knows how cruel it is.</p><p> </p><p>Armie bites his tongue to keep from shouting back at her.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy eventually speaks up for himself, after his face heated up of course. “Uh, they actually don’t know what causes it.”</p><p> </p><p>His mother doesn’t seem to be satisfied with the answer. She probably believes that Timmy is hiding some physical trauma that he experienced as a child that messed up his head. She’d probably try to link that to why he likes men. Armie hates that he knows what sick things his mother thinks, but how can he not when he heard all of this himself growing up?</p><p> </p><p>It happens when they’re looking over the menu several minutes later. Armie goes to look over at Timmy and ask what he's planning on getting when he notices the younger is staring off into space, looking out of the window that’s behind Armie and seeing absolutely nothing. He doesn’t move, frozen still. His eyes blink rapidly and his jaw twitches with what looks like chewing motions.</p><p> </p><p>Armie immediately recognizes it as an absence.</p><p> </p><p>Armie places a firm hand on Timmy’s thigh, rubbing up and down. He pats him a few times. “Hey,” he says quietly in the hopes that his parents won’t notice. “You’re alright. It’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Of course, his mom notices and instantly puts her nose where it doesn't belong. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s he doing? Why is he doing that?” she asks bitterly. She almost sounds disgusted.</p><p> </p><p>Armie doesn’t answer. He keeps all of his attention on Timmy, because his health is far more important than the snarky comments that his mother is making. He hears her ask the same questions to his father, but ignore it again, even after his father mumbles, “Acting a fool, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Armie says again. He reaches up to cradle Timmy’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across his temple. Timmy continues to blink repeatedly, his eyes still looking at nothing in particular. “Come on, come out of it, Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>“Armie, make him stop before the waiters come in here and see him like this,” Micheal speaks up.</p><p> </p><p>And that just...fuck him! How could he say something so vile without any regard? Who gave him the right?</p><p> </p><p>Armie is just about to go off on his father, let him hear it before he takes Timmy and leaves them alone at the table to finish their dinner themselves, but then Timmy stops blinking and is suddenly moving again, head turning back to his menu as if he never stopped. Just like that, he’s out of the absence.</p><p> </p><p>Armie pats his thigh, just to be sure. “You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy looks over at him, confused. “Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“What in the world was that?” Dru complains. Her face is scrunched up in revulsion, as if she can’t believe that Timmy would even dare to have an absence at the dinner table. As if he can help it. As if Timmy wants to be making this impression on his boyfriend’s parents.</p><p> </p><p>Armie clenches his teeth. “Mom--”</p><p> </p><p>“Armie…” Timmy mumbles. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie turns back to Timmy, and his heart shatters from the look on his face. He looks concerned, confused, and altogether lost as to why everyone is acting weird all of a sudden.</p><p> </p><p>“You had an absence, baby,” Armie responds gently, still gripping Timmy’s thigh.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s face crumbles. He’s mortified. “I...I did?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm,” Armie nods as he tucks a curl behind Timmy’s ear, but he tries to keep his tone light. He tries to convince Timmy that it doesn’t matter, that no one cares and everybody is going to move on, just like his own family would, but he knows that isn’t the case. And Timmy knows it too.</p><p> </p><p>He immediately starts to apologize. “Gosh, I’m...I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie shuts it down. “Hey, no. It’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Armie, what was that? What was he just doing?” Dru butts in. She waves a finger at Timmy as she speaks about him like he’s not in the room. Like he’s a child, or an animal.</p><p> </p><p>Armie holds his anger back as he explains. “It was an absence seizure, Mom. Nothing to make a big deal about.”</p><p> </p><p>But of course she has to make it a big deal. She always does. “Well, isn’t there a pill he can take or something so he won’t do that again? That was...rather frightening to watch.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s entire face turns bright red, all the way up to his ears. He looks down at his lap, too embarrassed to defend himself. It makes Armie furious. He knew this would happen. He knew it.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Mom. That’s not how it works. At all. So maybe you should keep your comments to yourself--”</p><p> </p><p>“Armand,” Micheal warns.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy suddenly rests his hand on top of Armie’s that lays on his thigh. It immediately grounds him, and he turns to see what Timmy’s needs from him in less than a second. Timmy always comes first. Always. “Armie, please,” he whispers. “Can we just...move on?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie huffs a big sigh as Timmy peaks up at him with his soft eyes. He caves.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he agrees before turning to his parents, accusatory. “Let’s move on, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Later on in the night, once they’ve all received their food, Armie’s mother can’t seem to bite her tongue any longer. She tries to ease her way into the conversation, but as soon as Armie hears her casual tone, he knows that this is what she’s been wanting to talk about all night long. This was the reason they wanted to see him.</p><p> </p><p>“So, Armie,” Dru says, saying the name he prefers in the hopes of getting on his good side before she speaks. It doesn’t work. “There’s an opening in your grandfather’s company at the headquarters up in Seattle.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie pretends to act interested. But god, he really couldn’t care less. He just wants her to spit it out already. “Oh, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” she says as she tries to act like she’s paying really close attention to cutting her steak. “COO position. Second in command.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm!” Timmy hums next to him, his mouth full of steamed broccoli. He innocently has no idea what his mother’s intentions are.</p><p> </p><p>“Big position. I’m sure they’ll find someone to fill it,” Armie says as he avoids his mother’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Micheal pulls the napkin away from his mouth. He clears his throat. “Well, you know, son. We were thinking that you could fill those shoes.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie scoffs. “No. Absolutely not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Armie…” Timmy calls quietly from next to him, but he doesn’t look. He really doesn’t need Timmy telling him to calm down right now because, truly, he’s been keeping his cool all night. But right now, with his parents bringing up old topics that have been argued about several times over, he can no longer hold it in.</p><p> </p><p>His father continues. “Armie, you are fit for this job--”</p><p>“I don’t give a fuck!” Armie almost shouts.</p><p> </p><p>Dru gasps. “Armand!”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m not working for you or this family in general, ever. We’ve already talked about this. It’s not going to happen!” Armie says, slamming his silverware down.</p><p> </p><p>Micheal smacks his hand down on the table, points a finger at Armie. “You watch who you’re speaking to, son. This is a great job offer, and I want you to be the one to take it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not working for you or my grandfather,” Armie enunciates. “I never have and I never will.”</p><p> </p><p>“Arms,” Timmy calls again. And Armie ignores him again.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you do this?” Dru asks. Her forehead doesn’t crinkle when she frowns. Botox. “I mean, seriously, we’re telling you about an amazing job offer and you’re turning it down for what? Just out of spite? Just to defy us? Are you actually still that foolish?”</p><p> </p><p>“What would be foolish is me deciding to work for you people. Our family is corrupt and our businesses are even worse. I will not take part in anything you guys do behind the scenes. And I will most definitely not pack up my life in New York just to move back to the other side of the country again,” Armie explains.</p><p> </p><p>Because, seriously? They’ve already had this conversation a million times over. And they really expect it to be different now? Now that Armie has a committed relationship? Now that Armie would have to pack all of his shit up and move to Seattle? Make Timmy leave his family? And for what? Just so he can make insanely good money that both he and his family don’t deserve due to tax fraud, laundering, you name it?</p><p> </p><p>And what if he were to take it? His entire life would be in their hands. They could rip that job away from him just as easily as they gave it to him. They could take everything from him. Armie will be damned if he becomes dependent on this unstable family. He won’t do it.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy squeezes Armie’s hand under the table, but Armie is still too heated to give him the time of day. He’d much rather chew his parents out.</p><p> </p><p>Dru finally says something that sends him over the edge. It just about makes him crawl out of his own skin. “Well, if you maybe gave it a chance you could actually have a stable life. Meet a nice woman, have children. Move on from your sinful lifestyle and start living one that matters. One that God wants.”</p><p> </p><p>And Armie just can’t believe that this is happening right now. How dare she? How dare she suggest such a thing in front of Armie’s boyfriend, who was the only reason he even decided to step foot in this place? How dare she suggest that Timmy wasn’t permanent? As if Timmy is a phase. It’s despicable, and it makes Armie think back to her saying the same thing about his sexuality.</p><p> </p><p>Armie is just about to scream back at her vile comment when suddenly Timmy groans from next to him.</p><p> </p><p>Armie immediately looks over at Timmy and is horrified by the sight. He almost can’t believe it. This really has to be happening, now of all times? His blood runs cold as he realizes that Timmy has started trembling violently in the seat next to him. His eyes are wide and gazing, and his free hand comes up to the neck of his button up and pulls on the collar over and over. Like he’s not conscious of it. Because he’s not.</p><p> </p><p>He’s going to have a seizure. Is already having one, right here in the middle of a fancy restaurant in front of his parents.</p><p> </p><p>This can’t be happening. It can’t be.</p><p> </p><p>Armie instantly dives into action, the hateful words he had wanted to spew at his mother forgotten to urgency. He reaches up to touch Timmy’s cheek. His mouth hangs open and drips long strings of drool. He’s frozen to his place. “Timmy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, great. He’s doing it again,” Dru complains from the other side of the table. But it’s not the same thing. She has no idea, but this will be much, much worse, and Armie pities Timmy at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>Armie tells himself, maybe it’s just a partial. Maybe Timmy will be okay. “Timmy, what’s going on? Are you feeling sick?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s head then turns to the side in jerking motions until his chin is pressed against his shoulder. He groans again, eyes going wide as his neck strains to the side. That’s proof enough for Armie to see that this isn’t going to blow over like he hoped. He needs to jump into action now.</p><p> </p><p>“Hold on, baby. I’m going to get you on the floor,” Armie says as he pushes his chair back and stands. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks to himself for a second. Should he try to take him to the bathroom to give him some privacy? Would they be able to make it? No. No, they don’t have time for that. Timmy’s safety is more important than his dignity.</p><p> </p><p>Armie starts to get his hands under Timmy’s armpits to life him off the chair when the boy cries out, a loud shriek surely rattling through almost the entire restaurant, even from inside the room. It makes Armie jump, but he tries to reassure him. “Shhh, stop. It’s okay, Tim. I’m just moving you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Armie, what is going on? What is he doing?” Micheal questions. He sounds pissed, but Armie can’t bring himself to care or respond.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly and carefully, Armie lowers Timmy onto the shiny, hardwood floors of the restaurant, thinking to himself that Timmy is probably the first person to have a seizure to this severity in such a highly respected establishment. It’s unfair, unrelenting.</p><p> </p><p>Once Timmy is nestled on his side, Armie crouches next to him. He swallows harshly as he watches Timmy immediately curl into a ball in the hopes of comforting himself. It doesn’t work because there’s no stopping it. It’s going to happen one way or another.</p><p> </p><p>Armie brushes Timmy’s curls away, touching him while he still can. “It’s gonna be okay, honey. I promise. Just let it happen, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy reaches for him, can’t form the words.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going anywhere,” Armie says as he twists his own fingers around Timmy’s. “I’m right here. I’ll be here when you come back, too. I swear it.” He knows that’s one thing the younger really needs in times like this. The reassurance that he’s not alone, that Armie won’t let anything happen to him. It’s comforting to them both.</p><p> </p><p>He almost forgets about both of his parents being in the room until his mother finally speaks up again. She somehow sounds slightly concerned. “Armie, should we call an ambulance?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie shakes his head at their ignorance. “No, Mom. He’s having a seizure. He doesn’t need an ambulance.” He doesn’t have time to explain this to her or help her understand that this kind of thing happens a lot and that he’d dealt with it several times over. He has more important things to worry about.</p><p> </p><p>When Timmy starts sobbing, his muscles contracting continuously in untimely patterns, Armie knows he’s about to go. He removes his own jacket and balls it up before carefully sliding it under the boy’s head. It only makes his lover cry more from the shift, but it’s necessary.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re alright. I think you’re gonna go now, Timmy. It’ll be okay,” Armie whispers closely. He then scoots back to give Timmy some space.</p><p> </p><p>His parents simultaneously rise from their seats, coming around to the other side of the table to gawk. Armie wants to tell them to leave, but that would take his focus away from Timmy, and he does not need to be doing that right now.</p><p> </p><p>“Armie?” Dru asks, hesitant.</p><p> </p><p>It starts then. Timmy’s arms lock and cross out in front of him. His fists are balled and his wrists are jerking inward. His legs tremble more intensely, but they don’t kick out like they usually do. Unfortunately, his neck and back are persistent, his head smacking repeatedly on the jacket and the convulsions in his spine almost flipping him over. His eyes are rolled back in his head and his nose twitches against his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my goodness,” Armie’s father says in complete shock from behind him. Neither of them have seen anything like this in their lives, Armie is sure of it.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy whines as his mouth pulls to the side, red spit leaking from his open lips. The shakes and spasms are brutal, and Armie hates the fact that they’re happening right here in a fancy restaurant where his parents watch in horror and disgust. Timmy would hate himself for what he’s doing now, but it’s not like he can help it.</p><p> </p><p>Armie looks at his watch then, keeping an eye on the time. He turns his gaze back to Timmy, trying to ignore the gurgling sounds coming from his lover. “You’ve got it. It’s okay. You’re doing so well, baby,” he encourages.</p><p> </p><p>“Armie, we have to get someone in here,” Dru says before walking away towards the double doors of the room. It burns Armie up.</p><p> </p><p>“Mom! Don’t you bring anybody else in here. They’ll just get in the way,” Armie explains. He needs as much space and privacy as possible. Why can’t his mom just understand that he has this under control?</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t listen. She opens the doors and calls out into the hallway that they need help. Armie can hear the way her voice echoes throughout the entire restaurant, and silence ensues before hushed chatter. It makes Armie angry because of course his mother has to make a scene. Of course she has to draw attention to herself. Why wouldn’t she?</p><p> </p><p>A waitress comes running to her assistance. “Ma’am, what’s going on? How can we help?”</p><p> </p><p>“We need some help in here. My son’s friend just fell out on the floor and now he’s convulsing,” his mother explains, and it just absolutely riles him up. Her ignorance. Her spite. It makes Armie see red.</p><p> </p><p>He glances at his watch, trying to bite his tongue and ignore their help.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my,” the waitress responds, looking into the room to try see the situation at hand. She isn’t doing much of anything but being nosey. “Okay, keep calm ma’am. We’ll call 911.”</p><p> </p><p>And nope. Nope, nope, nope. Armie has heard enough of this stupidity. If no one will listen to him when he speaks nicely, then he’s just gonna have to be harsh.</p><p> </p><p>He raises his voice then, shouting deeply across the room. “You’re not going to do a goddamn thing!” he says to the waitress who has gone pale at this point. “What I need is for everyone to get out of my fucking way and let me handle this. You don’t need to call 911 for a seizure. He has fucking epilepsy. I know what I’m doing!”</p><p> </p><p>No one in the room speaks, and neither do the people outside in the common area of the restaurant. It’s eerily quiet. And Armie knows, he knows he’s making a scene, but it’s hard not to when no one will listen to you when you say you know how to handle your boyfriend’s condition. They would do more harm than good if Armie allows it.</p><p> </p><p>The waitress stays in the doorway with his mother, and over time more employees gather to gawk at his boyfriend. It’s truly disgusting, how they look at him like he’s a freak show. Armie wonders where their respect is.</p><p> </p><p>Armie looks back down at Timmy and sees that he is now wheezing, his face pressed more into the ground as his neck continues to throw his head side to side. The gurgling and the wheezing haunt Armie’s nightmares, and he can’t help but feel sick at the sounds coming from Timmy.</p><p> </p><p>His lips are blue. He can’t breathe well.</p><p> </p><p>“Armie, he can’t breathe,” his father calls from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“He can breathe...Dad. He’s...He’s getting some air. It’ll be okay,” Armie says as he keeps his eyes on Timmy. He’s seen Timmy’s lips turn blue several times over, but there’s still a scary thought in the back of his mind telling him that this might be the one time that he stops.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy cries out, sharp yelps leaving his throat. Armie checks his watch.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, baby. We’re already coming up on two minutes. You’ve gotta slow down for me,” Armie practically begs. He tries not to think about how humiliating Timmy will find this when he comes to.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s body seems to follow Armie commands because seconds later, his limbs finally begin to slow, the trembling fading out, his gurgling becoming harsh panting. Eventually his body comes to rest limply, and he’s left as lifeless as a rag doll. His eyes are barely cracked open and his irises are lost. The only movement of his body now is his heavy breathing, the wheeze still prominent from the saliva he asphyxiated.</p><p> </p><p>Armie still waits a few seconds just to be sure that another seizure doesn’t follow. Cluster seizures would be the last thing they need right now, but that doesn’t mean a thing to Timmy’s epilepsy. It hits him anywhere at any time.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally sees Timmy’s head start to shift in curiosity, his body terribly confused about the condition he’s in, Armie deems it safe. He reaches forward and places a hand on Timmy’s flushed cheek, watching closely as the blue disappears from his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, angel,” he whispers. “You did so good, Timmy. You’re okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy leans into the touch at first and then suddenly jerks back, startled. Armie simply touches him again, cautiously. Timmy whimpers and pushes his face into the touch again, now knowing that the hand is safe.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re alright. Just take some deep breaths,” Armie encourages.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s eyes wander, unable to focus on anything in the room, but he seems interested in Armie’s voice. He must find some comfort in it because he keeps his head facing his way.</p><p> </p><p>“Arm--”</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Dad,” Armie cuts him off. “Go stand by Mom. I need to get him situated,” he says, which really means, I need you to get away from me and stop breathing down my neck before I take all of my anger out on your face.</p><p> </p><p>Michael doesn’t question his son’s request and surprisingly complies. He observes from the door along with Dru and several waiters, waitresses, and customers. It makes Armie sick. He hopes they got what they wanted by watching a man tremble against a floor helplessly.</p><p> </p><p>Armie tries for Timmy’s attention then. He cards a hand through his curls, scratching lightly at the spots he knows Timmy likes. “Timmy, do you know who I am?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy surprisingly looks up at him, holds his gaze even, but there’s nothing there. No recognition, no comprehension. It’s barren, and quite frankly, scary.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Armie says, tapping his cheek. Timmy doesn’t do much but drool, his eyes blinking heavily. Armie thoughtlessly wipes the spit away from Timmy’s chin with his bare hand. “Do you know who I am? Timmy, do you know who I am?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy blinks up at him, frowning as he ponders his question. Eventually he swallows and starts moaning, “Arm...Armie, Armie, Armie.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie smiles at him sadly. “Yes, that’s good, honey. You’re doing so well.”</p><p> </p><p>Upon his confirmation, Timmy begins to reach for Armie desperately. He grips Armie’s thigh weakly, whining at the older, having no clue that multiple strangers are watching him.</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh,” Armie soothes. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”</p><p> </p><p>This doesn’t seem to do much for Timmy. He appears to be upset about something else entirely. He begins trying to push himself up onto his elbows. “Armie…” he whines again, this time tears gathering in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Lay down, lay down,” Armie says softly as he places a gentle hand on Timmy’s shoulder to ground him.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy of course doesn’t listen. In fact, he starts crying even harder, the words he’s saying now not making any sense (not that he was really saying anything other than Armie’s name anyway). He starts sobbing profusely, seemingly frustrated and confused beyond belief.</p><p> </p><p>“Timmy--”</p><p> </p><p>And then the vomit. One particularly deep sobs has him gagging and throwing up his entire dinner right there on the floor of the restaurant. Armie hears a few people from the doorway gasp at the show they’re watching, but Armie hardly flinches. Just rubs Timmy’s back as he continues to alternate between hiccups and heaves.</p><p> </p><p>“Shhh, get it out. Let it all out, Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s done, he’s weeping all over again. He brings his hands up to his face and cries and cries behind them. Armie quickly but carefully gets his arms under Timmy and pulls him up into a sitting position. Timmy instantly falls forward against Armie’s chest and continues to cry, his words making no sense.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know,” Armie comforts as he holds Timmy’s head to his chest. The force of Timmy’s sobs shake them both.</p><p> </p><p>A woman suddenly approaches the two of them. She looks to be the manager of the restaurant, based on her unique attire. It doesn’t bother Armie when she comes close, the sympathetic look on her face easing all of his frustrations. She looks like she genuinely wants to help, and that’s all Armie really needs right now.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles sadly, trying to speak over Timmy’s cries. “Is there anything we can get for him? Or you for that matter?” Something in her demeanor tells Armie that she’s dealt with or seen something like this before.</p><p> </p><p>“Just some water would be a great help,” Armie says, rubbing Timmy’s back and soothing his sobs into hiccups.</p><p> </p><p>She nods and brings a bottle of water back to them quickly. Once she hands it over, she leaves them again to give them their space. Armie looks up at the door to see that most of the curious on-lookers have now left, and the only ones still hovering by the door are his parents.</p><p> </p><p>Armie pulls Timmy back and feeds him the water slowly. “Easy sips, babe.”</p><p> </p><p>“No more,” Timmy mumbles as he pushes the water away from his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Armie complies, putting the water on the ground. “Let’s get you to a bathroom and get you cleaned up, okay? How does that sound?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy nods.</p><p> </p><p>With that, Armie wraps his arms around Timmy’s back and stands slowly, lifting the both of them off the ground at the same time. It takes Timmy a minute to get his footing, but eventually he plants his feet, leaning the entirety of his weight onto Armie. He breathes heavily into Armie’s chest, that exertion taking everything from him.</p><p> </p><p>All the while, Armie’s parents watch. He can’t quite read their expressions, but he knows they’re feeling anything but sympathy. They’re most likely feeling disgust and embarrassment, and Armie resents them for it. Doesn’t even meet their eye as he starts walking Timmy towards the door.</p><p> </p><p>The same woman from earlier is standing just outside of the double doors, waiting to help them in any way. Armie tries to remember to thank her later.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are the restrooms?” Armie asks as Timmy slumps more and more into his side. He’s not going to be able to hold him up like this for much longer.</p><p> </p><p>“Just down there and to the right,” she answers. “And don’t worry, we’ll take care of the mess.” Armie thanks her.</p><p> </p><p>As they shuffle down the hall towards the restrooms, Timmy trips over his own feet several times. Armie’s sure not to mention it, and instead encourages him with, “You’re okay. You’ve got it.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie’s happy to see that the extravagant restaurant holds up to its name in the bathrooms as well, being that every stall is basically a tiny room with complete privacy. He huffs a sigh of relief knowing that he’ll be able to nurse Timmy back to normal without having anyone else barge in.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, sit here, baby,” Armie says as he starts moving Timmy towards the toilet.</p><p> </p><p>To his surprise, Timmy stops moving. He groans as he tries to pull Armie back, seemingly not wanting to sit on the toilet.</p><p> </p><p>Armie frowns. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy doesn’t answer, but he quickly throws a hand over his mouth with wide eyes, gagging weakly.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. He’s gonna be sick again.</p><p> </p><p>Armie hurriedly crouches Timmy in front of the toilet just in time before he’s vomiting even more into the bowl. Armie’s surprised he even has anything left in his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>As he holds Timmy’s hair back, he beats himself up for letting this happen. He knew he shouldn’t have let Timmy talk him into this. He knew it wouldn’t go well. Not only were his parents assholes to both him and Timmy, but Timmy also had a seizure in a public place in front of multiple people. It shouldn’t be embarrassing for Timmy, but Armie can understand how it can be when complete strangers watch him convulse and do nothing but stare at him like he’s a caged animal.</p><p> </p><p>This night couldn’t have gone any worse.</p><p> </p><p>When Timmy is finished again, he wipes his nose and watery eyes against the sleeve of his suit jacket. He looks exhausted, everything taken from him in a matter of seconds. Armie feels for him.</p><p> </p><p>Soon after, Armie gets Timmy seated on the toilet and tells him to wait.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll be right back. I just have to go get my phone from the table,” Armie explains.</p><p> </p><p>Unsurprisingly, Timmy starts tearing up at the thought of Armie leaving him. “Why?” he says wobbly.</p><p> </p><p>Armie’s heart shatters. He places a hand on Timmy’s cheek to comfort him. “Oh, angel. I’ll be right back. I promise,” he says as he caresses his cheekbones with his thumb. “I just have to get my phone because I have to call Saoirse to see if she can come get us. You can’t ride the subway home like this.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy’s lip pouts as he brings his hand up to cover Armie’s. “Stay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Timmy, it’ll be so quick. I swear. Just wait here and I’ll come right back, okay?” Armie assures. He won’t leave until Timmy is semi-okay with it.</p><p> </p><p>Timmy finally reluctantly nods. Armie doesn’t miss the way he hiccups when he slips out of the door.</p><p> </p><p>One his way back to the table, Armie runs into his mother in the hallway. His father is nowhere in sight, but he assumes he’s not far.</p><p> </p><p>She looks at Armie dramatically, acting as if she’s going to be sick any second now. “Armand, that was...Goodness. That was so heinous to watch. Do you deal with that often?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie tries to ignore the way she tries to make herself the victim by saying it disturbed her. “Yes, Mom. I do.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushes past her to talk into their private room. Of course she follows.</p><p> </p><p>“But isn’t there something he can take? Like some kind of medication or…?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie shakes his head. She’s laughable. </p><p> </p><p>“Mom, if there was a pill he could take that would just make it all go away, then he wouldn’t be having fucking seizures,” he says, unable to filter his language. He doesn’t curse much at his parents, but they’ve really taken it out of him tonight, and he’s not going to respect them if they can’t respect him.</p><p> </p><p>Dru flinches at that, watching as her son picks his phone up from the table and makes his way back through the doors. “So that’s it?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie freezes, turning back to look at her. “So what’s it?”</p><p> </p><p>“This,” she motions vaguely. “This is what you want for your life? Being a caretaker every day?”</p><p> </p><p>And that really sends Armie. He’s proud of himself for not going off and yelling at his mother that everything about her is cruel and maniacal, which would only result in more attention being drawn to them from other guests. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he bites his tongue, turns to her and says, “Being in a relationship with someone who’s disabled doesn’t make you a caretaker, and if you can’t see that, then you can quite frankly never speak to me again because I will not associate with someone who has such hateful views on others.”</p><p> </p><p>Dru stares back. She’s speechless.</p><p> </p><p>“Bye, Mom.” Armie stalks away from her down the hall and to the bathroom. It doesn’t feel final, but it’s definitely an end to the pointless conversation.</p><p> </p><p>When Armie opens the door to the bathroom again, he finds Timmy crying again. However, as soon as he steps in the door, the boy is frantically wiping away his tears, trying to hide the evidence.</p><p> </p><p>“Armie…” he whispers like someone will hear him.</p><p> </p><p>“There he is,” Armie grins as he walks over to Timmy. “How’re you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy looks down at his lap, picking at his nails again. Armie stops the nervous tick by placing his hands on top. “I’m...’m embarrassed, I guess,” he finally mumbles, not looking Timmy in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>Armie brushes the younger’s hair back. “Well, you shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like it was anything you could control, baby.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still,” Timmy pouts. There’s a few seconds of silence, and then, “Are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie frowns. “Am I what?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy bites his lip. “Embarrassed?”</p><p> </p><p>“Embarrassed?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm.” Timmy nods. “Of me?”</p><p> </p><p>Armie shuts that down quick.</p><p> </p><p>“No, of course not.” When Timmy doesn’t look convinced, Armie takes his chin in his hand. “Hey, look.” Timmy doesn’t, can’t bring himself to. “I’ve never been embarrassed of you. Ever. And I never will be. You got it?”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>Armie proves his point by kissing Timmy’s still slightly pukey mouth. Timmy scrunches his nose up in disgust. “I love you so much, okay?” Armie says. “I mean it.”</p><p> </p><p>Timmy swallows. “I...I love you too. A lot.”</p><p> </p><p>Armie smiles sweetly. “You better.” Timmy giggles.</p><p> </p><p>Armie then cleans Timmy up a bit while they wait for Saoirse to come get them. Once she’s outside, Armie walks Timmy out of the restaurant, trying to protect his red face from the other guests in the venue. They all stare, even the workers, and Armie can’t help himself from giving them a nasty look back. It’s amazing how rude people can be when they don’t understand something.</p><p> </p><p>But he just accepts that that’s how cruel the world is, and there’s not much that he and Timmy can do to change it. All they can do is hold on to each other and hope it changes on its own.</p><p> </p><p>They won’t care either way. As long as they have each other.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for all of your kudos and comments!!! i wouldn't be writing if it weren't for those.</p><p>come talk to me on tumblr (sweettimotea)!! <br/>i love to hear you guys' recommendations/questions &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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